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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977067">Last Rites</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerArthurHeath/pseuds/SerArthurHeath'>SerArthurHeath</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, Dominance, Dubious Consent, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Post-Canon, Prison Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Spoilers, Submission</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:27:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerArthurHeath/pseuds/SerArthurHeath</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the very end of Kushiel's Dart and thus contains major SPOILERS for Kushiel's Dart. <br/>Technically Canon-divergent but very in character (I hope)<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p> </p><p>.<br/>..<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>After surviving and winning the Battle of Troyes-Le-Mont, Phèdre feels conflict when Melisande, the woman who betrayed Phédre and her country, arrives in custody. She speaks as a witness against her, condemning her to die, but is called to see her one final time the night before her execution.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Phèdre nó Delaunay/Melisande Shahrizai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Last Rites</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wanted to write a scene of what might have been had things occurred a little differently towards the end of the conversation in Melisande's cell, so this continues straight on from near the end of that. I also wanted a look at what Melisande might have been feeling and possibly to set up a future alternative canon fic where Melisande wins, either in this book or the next one, and what happens to Phédre then.</p><p>I hope it's ok. I've not drawn the BDSM sex out too much but any future fic would probably linger more.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>"That which yields is not always weak…" Her words were twilight's whisper, speaking straight to my blood. The silken tones of her voice set that edge, the one between love and hate, teetering. For nobody, not my loathing for Selig as he raped me and my body betrayed me time after time, not the adoration for Delauney that was ingrained in my bones as sure as the mark in my eye, had ever evoked as either emotion in me as vividly, as absolutely as Melisande drew out both. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We stood in her cell a day before she was condemned to die and still I knew I would yield to her. It was in both of our natures. Kushiel may have sent me as his quarry, a shaft to cut down the baited plans of one who threatened the country he had helped shape, but I was also quarry in other ways: the bait and the prey to his blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's true, Phédre. I've been unfair. I don't believe I could ever have made you utter mine, body and soul. You wouldn't have betrayed your lord. You are strong, and loyal, and brave and fierce and whatever we do, as the beings we are, whatever I do and say to you and make you do, know that I truly do respect you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand was by my ear now, as fine and bare a caress as was ever taught in the House of Cereus, sending my senses swimming. All I could focus on was her, condemned, attainted, still compelling my very being with her presence, her scent, her touch. "I do regret it, you know. What happened to you and yours. It's the only thing I regret. I truly did not mean for Anafiel to die, or the boy. And it I could have kept you from knowing my part, kept you alive any other way, I would have done so and come to claim you, consoling you as Kushiel does, later. Selling you to be a slave to someone else, someone who could never understand what you are, that did hurt me. Because I wanted all of you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her lips were a breath's span from my face, the heat on them inflaming my skin and setting my spirit ablaze. Suffering brought me pleasure, humiliation too, and nothing had ever been as agonising and as mortifying as listening to the woman who had led to the death of everything I had ever held dear, who had destroyed me and made me the plaything of a brute against all of Naamah's laws, and yet to know and accept that I desired for her more than ever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This deep heartache and abstract but abject humiliation didn't become the red haze I was so used to, or even the self-disgust and loathing of my gift or curse that being used by the Skaldi had led to. No, it led to a soul-pleasure, intoxicating and pervasive, a knowledge that whatever else came between us, Melisande and I would always slot together like opposite halves of one twisted whole, that she owned a piece of me that I couldn't just cast back like the diamond at her feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Despite what it has meant for my plans, I really am glad to see you alive. I had hoped to reclaim you from Selig after it was all over, and you would have been my pet, free from all these other quibbles to live out your existence as it was always meant to be, as your essence ultimately desires." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had my hair now in her hand, gently, and drew me to her, my lips parting as irresistibly as the ones between my legs, under her spell. I would never, ever help her escape or betray my master's oath or my queen, and I think she knew it. She also knew, as I did, that where my mind could resist her if I found a good enough reason within my soul, my body could not. Would never. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You would wear a collar and leash as you did on the Longest Night, and nothing else, tight enough and on short enough rein that you would be permanently on the cusp of painful pleasure. We would play, you and I, in the evenings when your flesh had recovered, teasing your rebellion until you gave the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Signale</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then I would soothe you and comfort you after you pleaded for me. You would please me in the days in front of everyone who visited, exquisite with your shame, and share my bed. You would want for nothing but freedom and refuse that as you embraced your nature to your very core."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I could see it, feel it, and the vision stoked my fires to a hellish intensity. My blood was boiling and my thighs felt like molten glass dripped onto their unbearably tender skin. I had no self-restraint now, her words bypassing my mind altogether and having a direct effect on my obedient, needy body. The cadence of her speech had a poetry deeper than the gaudy wordplay or the turgid metre of clumsy artists of words, even than Delauney's heartfelt emotional outpourings that I had read seemingly centuries ago led by Melisande's teasing revelations. She was an artist of the blood, of base desires, of human instinct at a raw and untamed level. She would play almost any poor being, all so vulnerable to her many charms, like a lute, and Phédre was a unique instrument, perfect for her gifts, one that sang out in her </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know you, Phédre. Better than Delauney. Better than your traveller boy. Better than anyone. Better than </span>
  <b>you</b>
  <span>. You hate me now for what I've taken from you, but you love me, reflexively and utterly, for what I've given you and can give you. I know you'll never betray your queen and help me. She owns your loyalty, Anafiel your heart, you own your own mind and Kushiel your very soul. Your body, though, you know belongs to me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was right, right about everything. She stood there, holding me as gently as she ever had, a defeated prisoner. I was a free Angeline. She was a traitor, I was a hero. She was locked away, I could call for guards to protect me at any instant. There was no contract between us, she held me under no physical power or political, had no control over me but our twin natures and our history. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was still utterly in control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I folded beneath her touch, melting at it, and drew towards it like a moth to a flame all at once. Her fingers on my cheek pulled me as she moved them away as if a fine, invisible thread attached the two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This could be my last night on earth, but it could also be your last ever chance to taste what you yearn for. I'll give it to you. All you have to do is beg."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without a second thought, I was on my knees, staring at her cruel, beautiful countenance, the most perfect Angeline I had ever seen, some devastating blend of Kushiel's harshness and Naamah's grace, through teary eyes and curtained lashes. "Please, please let me please you." The words were out of my mouth before I could even consider them, my entire body shaking with the need to serve, to submit. To succumb to the one thing it craved the most. I was not weak, but in this matter I could do nothing but yield.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Melisande's smile was at once cruel and compassionate, not the cold one I was used to, but flavoured with real warmth. "My dear Phédre, you only had to ask. First, show me all of yourself."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Forgoing any pretence of resolve, I stripped in earnest, my body burning for her and yet the skin stippled with goose pimples and shivering the entire time. There is a drug made from the poppy flower that has become popular in recent years in parts of Terre D'Ange, imported from the far East, far beyond Menekhet, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sommeilait,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it has started to be known, for it grants sleep, rest from pain and vivid dreams. I had seen some who had become too entrenched in that tincture, and they acted like she was, desperate for another taste of the milk as it wore off and becoming hot and cold and empty all at once. Just like one of them, I acted with the haste of salient desire, driven by a need that left my willpower strewn asunder. In that small cell I was naked within seconds, dripping onto the floor in a way that would mortifying had I that much self-awareness at that moment in time. She clasped my hips from behind to hold me still and I froze, my being acquiescing to her will, as she drew a fingernail, sharp enough to draw a little pleasurable pain, along the Marque on my back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It suits you. Beautiful. I am pleased you had it finished in the end. I wouldn't want to have it mistaken that this work of art belonged even a little to anyone else."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With nimble fingers she pinched my nipples then, hard and suddenly and fierce, and the surge of red ecstasy that stabbed through my breasts into my heart overwhelmed me, brought me a feather from climax. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I would never see her again, she was to die, by my testament, the next day, and I would give her everything now and take everything she had to give. I was molten, a whole body of fluid, roiling, scorching </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span>, hating her, loving her, lusting for her, never forgiving her. Needing her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kissed my neck as her hands danced savagely delicately just over my flesh, then deepened the kiss into a marking one, claiming her territory by leaving a deep L'Agnace red stain on me. Beautiful heat pricked my scalp as she pulled hard on my hair, tangled in an unremitting grip, her teeth now pressing just shy of cutting my skin on her mark of ownership.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guards would know what happened when I left, as would anyone who saw my throat or looked into my haunted eyes. They almost certainly knew or guessed what was happening now. That chagrin added an edge that fuelled my passion and my helplessness. I also knew, and my predator did too, that if I called for help they would come. This would be over and it would fall badly for Melisande, condemned to die already or not. In this way I had my </span>
  <em>
    <span>Signale</span>
  </em>
  <span> once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both of us knew I would never use it tonight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We did not have much time before the guards would open the cell and interrupt us, saving me from my body's treason, whether I cried out or not, and if this was the last time we would ever entwine our spirits and torsos together then neither Melisande or I could bare to waste time. Our previous encounters had been drawn out, design to torture me and give me degrading release over hours until time had no meaning. They had culminated in private chambers where we had every Mandrake's tool imaginable to strip me away to the fragment Kushiel had planted in me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We did not need either thing to perfect the veneration of our two gods. We were together perfect tools for the task. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After draining my breath with</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Phédre, it has been a long journey without ablution. If I am to be executed, I must be clean. Wash me with your mouth."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I did, nearly collapsing in subjugation as her open legs fanned the stewed aroma of her body and her desire over me. This had clearly excited her enough so far, her untrimmed forest glistening with the dews of cupidity. She kicked me away, hard, before thrusting her feet at me. Her command, her pleasure, was clear. Like an well-trained pup, desperate for love, I started at the soles of her feet and worked up every fragment of her legs, until she pulled me aggressively into her lap and I continued the languisement. Initially I worked with all of the art my training and experience had cultivated, but soon she had wrenched me by my roots and ground me into her blooming petals with a need I had never seen from her before. I choked on her, pinned at the back of my head and by her thighs crushing my skull, barely able to stay conscious as I devoured her flowing nectar while she spent herself. Then her hands did not relax their grip upon me but rather she moved her hips and forced me lower, to her pungent other opening - not dirty but still sweat-coated from days of travel as a prisoner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I had never tasted her there before. Without questioning I graced every spot inside and out with my tongue, drinking in the shame.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then after the preludes of debasement, the physical dance between the </span>
  <em>
    <span>anguissette</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the Kusheline began, a tumultuous piece wrought in haste but it lasted long enough. Melisande's only tools were her mind, hands, teeth and nails, but she drove me to a spiderthread's breadth of the unspoken </span>
  <em>
    <span>Signale</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the fury of her need for me painful in itself. Her teeth broke my skin with feral bites. Her claws rent my back and flanks. Her fingers twisted my nipples with savagery, and other even more delicate spots, not enough to maim but to fill my vision with blood and my Lord's spirit. She gnawed on my breasts and struck me with open palms time after time, squeezing my throat until the red almost turned black. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when I was filled with exquisite tender heat, more aroused and sore from the artistry and timing and perfect flow of her relentless, greedy assault than a brute with a dozen tools and less imagination or gift could ever have managed, she pinned me to the floor and whispered "Beg me for it" in my ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I did, and everything erupted as she bit hard on my teat and softly but persistently rubbed on my pearl, the contrast of sharp stinging through my top and gentle pleasure lower down confusing and overwhelming me entirely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I left her cell shortly afterward, reeking of shame and of her, bruises and welts already forming on my body. I had given her my final gift, a consolation and apology for dooming her, and she hers to me for betraying me and ruining my life. Despite all she had done, I was left a conflicted mess, knowing half of my soul would be gone tomorrow, except in my memory and in my psyche, where she would never leave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I learnt the next morning that she had escaped, aided by someone even more treacherous than the mark in my eye, I felt dread, as we all did. I felt guilt as Queen Ysandre first questioned, then lecturered then comforted me. I felt fear and anger that someone who had helped us survive the chaos Melisande had unleashed upon us, tied tight to us by the trials we had endured, had released her into the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But through it all I had to bottle up a mad laughter and a rueful smile. Because a small part of me couldn't be sorry that she was still alive. That we would continue our games, political and physical. That I might risk becoming her pet were she ever crowned, as she had promised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because in the end, Kushiel's Dart and Kushiel's Scion, we were in perfect balance on Kushiel's Scales. A razor edge between love and hate, usually teetering in the middle, where both consumed us. </span>
</p>
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